


Numbers

by allofuswithwings



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27629333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofuswithwings/pseuds/allofuswithwings
Summary: In the dead of night after a house party, a drunken Dom wakes up and goes wandering to take a piss. Confusion and smut ensues.
Relationships: Matt Bellamy/Dom Howard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Numbers

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal/Dreamwidth. Originally posted May 2009.

One step. Two. Three. Four. Getting there.

Another. And another. One foot in front of the other. The legs remember now that’s how it goes.

Just up ahead. Third door on the right. That was it, wasn’t it?

Shit, it’s a bit cold. But nearly there now. Head too fuzzy to count properly, but this looks right. Turn of a handle and cold tiles under his feet. Yes, this is the right one.

Close the door, flick the lock. Hand bracing against the wall as the lid is flicked up and boxers go down. Fuck, that’s better.

Too much beer and gin. Given him a good night but now requires a stagger through the huge, dark house to find relief of white porcelain.

A sloppy hand hits the button on top, and he waits a moment, allowing shapes to resolve in the dark before him. He could turn the light on but he knows his head wouldn’t appreciate it.

The water is chilly on his hands but refreshing on his face and tongue.

Pausing at the door again, he thinks, tries to remember.

The brunette he’d left in that bed, about as coherent as himself, awaiting his return. He’d better hurry or she might pass out before he gets back.

Out the door again, closes behind. Feet still unsure, bumps into the wall. Once. Twice. Stops to steady himself with one hand.

Looks up to count the doors, make his way back. Second door on the right. No, wait, the left now. One. Two. Must be this one.

It’s dark inside, he rubs his eyes with one hand. Blankets cover a slim form, back to him. There’s the splash of dark hair from above the sheet. The remainder of the blankets bunched back, as he’d left them.

He stumbles, then slips onto the mattress, glad to be back in the warmth. Pulls the blankets up, slides across, hand reaching out for the other heated body.

His fingertips find skin and he sighs as he feels the smoothness, warmth. There’s a murmur and he shuffles closer, hand snaking up the spine.

He follows the vertebrae with lazy fingers, head rushing with hormones again. His mouth finds the nape of the neck, lips parted and tongue pressed against skin. He sucks, tasting. Once. Twice. The third elicits a sigh, and the spine under his hand arches.

“Changed your mind?”

The voice is wrong. He stops, confused. Pulling his mouth away, his hand drops back down, searching. Follows spine to waist, and over hips. Across belly and up chest. Yep, definitely wrong.

He snorts, then giggles.

“Oops.”

He slurs out an apology and then laughs again. The figure turns their head, and confused blue eyes pierce the dark.

“Dom?”

The voice is sleepy, and equally slowed with alcohol.

“Mmmpf uh, oh, wrong room.”

There’s a laugh from the other, ribcage shuddering under his touch.

“Fuck, s’hoping you were...uh...”

Long fingers gesture in the dim light, reaching for a name.

“Whatever she’s fucking called...”

There’s a sigh of resignation and the head turns and drops back.

“Yeah, s’cold, I wanted something... warm... laid.”

Rambling, the blonde presses lids closed and attempts coherency again.

“Where’s my fuck, then?”

Giggles reply to his question, then a shrug of shoulders against his chest. He’s not cold here. He can’t be bothered leaving to find it. Her. Whatever. This is comfortable.

“Mmmhh, y’warm.”

He nods slowly in agreement, glad that Matt isn’t kicking him out. His hand flattens against the slim chest, shifting closer for more body heat.

Bony arse pressing into his groin reminds him, makes his head swim. Muscles loosen and face drops into the crook of the warm neck in front of him.

He inhales, skin soft, musky scent, and exhales, mouth open.

A shudder and a murmur from the other figure. Slender fingers wrap around his wrist, and the raven head turns slightly.

“I can feel you.”

He doesn’t remember thinking he wanted it again, but somehow his lips are parted and mouth open against that neck. His tongue snaking its way over stretches of muscle and sinew, heated and salty.

The back arches against him again, bony shoulder pressing into his own. Something tells him he should stop. He doesn’t.

“Want...”

He can’t finish his sentence, Matt backs into him again. His own hips buck. Once. Twice. Friction makes heat pool between his legs, he sighs. He is aware of how hard he is.

His hand is being tugged downward. He resists. He wants to touch more. Fingers press over ribs, down sternum, across smooth skin. Feels good.

He finds an earlobe with his lips, bites down gently. The noise makes his head swim more.

He wonders why Matt hasn’t stopped him yet.

Fingertips play in wiry hair as he reaches the stomach. Tracing around and around the bellybutton. His hand slips lower and grasps at the waistband.

A tremble and short cry emerge as the side of his hand bumps the top. It’s damp against the silky material. He presumes that’s good.

He doesn’t recall pushing his hand inside. He doesn’t want to wait anymore. His fingers curl slowly around the heated length of flesh, feeling the firmness in his palm.

The response is highly vocal. Fingernails dig into his wrist. Head and body turn toward him slightly.

The lips upon his own are not unwelcome, thin but soft. Mouth is wet and warm, tongue quick and deep. He can taste bourbon. He doesn’t stop. His own groan echoes in his ears.

Fingers tangle in his hair, behind his neck. They pull with each stroke.

The rhythm is quick. He’s not sure why. One. Two. Three.

Lips tear away, eyes still closed.

“ _Dom_.”

Back again, tongue curling around his. There’s wetness under his thumb, he traces with it. Lips break once more to protest. Maybe not.

A hand lets go of his wrist and pushes its way between their bodies. His pace falters at long fingers wrapping around him. Noises escape his throat unintentionally.

Up and down, quickly, wonderfully. Soft fingers, hard flesh, fuck yes, just like that.

He knows, shit, how does he know what he likes? It’s much too good.

And feeling him, the noises he makes. He moves faster. He smothers the cries with more kisses.

Sweat beads down his spine, makes him shiver. Hips moving of their own accord against that hand. He’s not breathing properly, gasping in air only when he can. Heart racing in his ears.

Eyelids flutter open to discern shapes in the dark. Ebony hair, pale skin, pointed features. He shouldn’t be here. Long, smooth neck, stubbled chin.

Bright blue eyes open, pierce him. He slams his own shut, pressing mouth against throat. Sucking, licking, panting. He breathes in, the smell of sex in his nostrils.

The body against him tenses, hips curling against his hand, a short, pained cry fills the air. There is a pulsing in his palm, rush of blood, and his fingers become wet, sticky.

Opening his eyes, it’s too much to see Matt like this, the way his pupils dilate, mouth hangs open. He pushes against hand and hip. Once. Twice. The third time tips him over.

Orgasm takes him, he presses his head back against the pillow. Mouth falls open, clipped moan escapes him, he shudders.

Spilling over Matt’s hand, his back, his own belly, he doesn’t care. It’s good.

Head spinning, he hears himself breathing. Then Matt’s panting next to him, he too coming down.

He releases his grip, hand sliding up to rest on a bony hip. He’s also let go, arm manoeuvred out from between them.

Those icy eyes find him again. He swallows.

The fingers in his hair remain. They pull him closer.

This kiss is slower, sloppier, makes his chest ache. Then lips against his forehead.

“You...”

It’s murmured against his skin, and he doesn’t understand.

Kisses graze his temple. One. Two. Three.

He closes his eyes.


End file.
